


Triptych

by Vagrant_Blvrd



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - GTA V, Fake AH Crew, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Fake AH Crew
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 14:48:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15888216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagrant_Blvrd/pseuds/Vagrant_Blvrd
Summary: Everything is in motion.





	Triptych

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin’s made mistakes in the past, but none quite like this. Stupid enough that he hasn't quite shed the arrogance of youth, and ends up paying for it for a long, long time.

It’s a silly little whim, bit of curiosity, that has Gavin hacking a system no one in their right mind would even think about before they’ve learned enough to do it cleanly and it lands him in the worst kind of trouble. 

Changes his damn world when he wakes up one morning to his door being kicked in and armed men in body armor and big damn guns aimed at him.

A man in a suit and bulletproof vest and this _smirk_ as he looks Gavin over like he’s nothing. (Less than nothing.)

A flick of his hand and one of the men moves forward to cuff Gavin. They march him past his gawking neighbors and shoved into the back of an unmarked van, driven down to the FIB building. 

Plunk him down in an interrogation room for what has to be bloody _hours_.

Handcuffed to the metal table facing the two-way mirror and all the time in the world to pick apart the _how_ of him ending up there. 

Every little misstep, thing he’d done or not done when he was poking around their files and other bits of interest, thinking the would never notice.

He loses track of time, too-bright lights and changing of the stone-faced bastards watching him, stomach growling and mouth dry and aware – so very aware – that things in Los Santos work differently than anywhere else he’s seen in his short life. (Anything he’s been told about, knows people like him go missing all the damn time in this city.)

Gavin’s starting to wonder if he’s just going to rot in the interrogation room. Up and waste away without anyone knowing what happened to him when the agent from his apartment walks in.

Perfectly pressed suit and slicked back hair, pair of horn-rimmed glasses and this too-calm air about him. 

Voice this smooth, controlled roll and pitch. 

Soothing, mesmerizing.

“Gavin Free,” he greets. “I’m Agent Harris.”

He’s holding a simple manila folder in his hands with Gavin’s name across the little tab. Blocky font, last name first, first name last and a string of numbers and letters under it Gavin can’t quite make out.

His record, Gavin assumes. Various files and whatnot documenting his misdeeds over the years. From England to certain areas across Europe to where he’d crossed the ocean to the US and eventually Los Santos.

Small things here and there, nothing serious enough to land him jail time. Most easily explained away as the indiscretions of youth and all that. Running with the wrong crowd and he’d make an excellent candidate for rehabilitation and on and on and on.

Gavin knows it by heart, all the times he got off lightly, and knows this won’t be one of them.

Agent Harris tosses Gavin’s file on the table, and he watches it slide across the smooth metal until it stops in front of him.

“Go on,” Agent Harris says. “Open it.”

Gavin gives him a look, but Harris gives him nothing to go on, so Gavin opens the folder to reveal a stack of photos placed on top of his file.

The top photo isn’t that old, and Gavin’s heart stops in his chest as he studies it.

He knows where it was taken, _when_.

Gavin headed back to his terrible little apartment a few weeks back a few weeks back as he was coming back from a job. Head down against the cold, chin tucked into the collar of his jacket, hands shoved into his pockets and so damn oblivious.

The cuffs are just long enough for him to reach for the folder, move that photo aside to see the others. 

Some go back months, almost a year and not once had he noticed. (A few with _Dan_ in them, when the idiot had visited him on leave, new rank insignia and boyish grin and this _pride_ about him, because he was thriving and it kills Gavin a little seeing those photos.)

“You’re an interesting young man,” Agent Harris says as he takes a seat across from Gavin. Folds his hands together. “Uniquely talented.”

Gavin swallows thickly and puts the photos down. Flips the folder shut and leans back in his chair. Wants away from this man with his too-calm manner and calculating look in his eyes. Smug in his position of authority, knows he has Gavin exactly where he wants him.

“But you’ve made...questionable choices in your life,” he says, like he regrets such a waste. “This latest incident of yours is quite serious, you understand. You’re no longer considered a minor.”

Gavin’s careful not to let his hands curl into fists. He’s met more than his share of people like this agent since coming to Los Santos. Knows what a mistake that would be.

The agent smiles, a mockery of kindness, sympathy.

“My superiors have an offer for you to consider,” the agent says. “We could use someone with your talents.”

And there it is, trap closing around him of his own making.

“If you decline the offer, well. You did hack into the FIB’s database.” The agent spreads his hands. “I doubt your country will fight us over this.”

If they even find out about it, Gavin knows. Got a peek at all sort of unsavory things before he ducked out of their systems, thought he’d managed to do it cleanly.

“Well,” he says, keeps his eyes down. Tone of voice resigned, defeated. “When you put it that way.”

There’s a quiet laugh, a sense of _good boy_ to it that plants a little seed in Gavin’s mind, sets down roots.

“You’re making the right choice, Mr. Free.”

========

Gavin keeps his head down, plays meek and mild. Lets them think they’ve broken his spirit with threats of what will happen to him if he puts a toe out of line. All these laws he’s broken, the case against him they were building for ages before he gave them the perfect opportunity.

Plays by their rules and as time goes by they get complacent, comfortable in their belief he would never dream of doing something about the pretty little cage they’ve built around him.

It gains him small freedoms, privileges, and he’s so, so careful with them. Hoards them like precious jewels and makes sure not to do anything to have them revoked. (Or really, get caught doing anything that would get them revoked because he’s nowhere near broken, defeated the way they assume he is.)

Gavin learns so much working for the FIB. Goes up against other hackers out there, cyber threats and the like and all it does is sharpen his own skills, hones them. Teaches him to be better, smarter, than those he catches fumbling like blind fools. 

He snares the worst of the lot, the ones with plans to hurt and kill for the joy of it, because it sounds like fun to them.

Runs them to ground, wraps them up nice and neat for the FIB and feels a vicious sort of satisfaction because they’re monsters, nice and simple. 

He takes warning swipes at the young and stupid, too curious for their own good. Sends them scurrying away before the FIB catches onto them. Teaching them the lesson he learned the hard way.

Things shift a little sideways on him when he finds himself staring at a chat window one day. A chat window for a program he knows for a fact wasn’t installed on his machine when he came in that morning.

Simple enough message, too. Quote from a classic eighties movie. One of the Matthews, if he recalls correctly.

_Shall we play a game?_

He stares at it for a long, long time, aware it could be a trap. Some clever new way for his handlers to extend his so-called contract with them, but he’s feeling reckless enough at the moment not to care.

 _Love to._ he types, but leaves off the rest because he’s not to the point where thermonuclear war sounds like an appealing option.

Yet.

 _Tell me who I am._ his mystery pen pal types, and Gavin’s never really been one to leave that kind of mystery unsolved.

It takes him two weeks of sleepless nights in between his work for the FIB and his own side projects before he finally discovers who he’s been tracking. Sniffing out little clues here and there until he gets his answer.

A hacker known as Axial who is rumored to have ties with the Fake AH Crew. Group of notorious criminals known to be a thorn in the FIB’s side, and an _offer_.

Feed them information regarding the FIB’s operations focus on the Fakes and they’ll make it so the FIB can never touch Dan or their families again. Remove that ugly bit of leverage the FIB has on Gavin, and the promise of help if he ever wants to escape his cage.

It’s too good of an offer to be true and one Gavin can’t refuse all in one.

There’s little enough Gavin can do to protect Dan or their families from the FIB in his current predicament. Not the way he wants to, and he’s heard about the Fakes.

Best of a bad lot, as far as these things go here in Los Santos. Known for being an honorable enough bunch who keeps their word and the sort who will deal honestly with you so long as you do the same.

And to be fair, Gavin’s been looking for a prime way to get back at the FIB for trapping him the way they have. Holding him here with ugly little threats against people who have nothing to do with this mess he’s made of things all on his own.

It’s easy to slip the Fakes information when his handlers and other FIB agents talk freely around him. Don’t stop to think he would resent their treatment of him, that he could do anything with the information he gathers easy as anything and passes along to Axial and the Fakes.

He gets curious, though, Gavin does. Looks into the FIB and their previous attempts to bring the Fakes down. (It pays to know what to look for in case the FIB get it into their heads to try another go at the Fakes. Give them a heads up long before things get off the ground, or so he tells himself.)

It makes for an interesting read. Gavin learns when the Fakes were first setting up shop in Los Santos the FIB sent several agents to infiltrate the crew.

Agent after agent over the course of a year, sent them in at random points in time in order not to make it seem suspicious. None of them were successful. A few were killed, some simply went missing, and the rest resigned soon afterward. 

There was one recent attempt, a few few weeks before the FIB snatched Gavin up.

Promising young agent that everyone seemed to like, talent for charming anyone he met and their best chance at bringing the Fake AH Crew tumbling down.

The files about it are sparse, but there’s a note in one of the files Gavin gets his hands on. References the archives room in the basement because even in this day and age the FIB hasn’t fully done away with hard copy files, things they don’t want hackers getting their grubby little hands on.

Gavin’s not allowed access, of course, but he’s got light fingers and stubborn determination on his side. 

It doesn’t take him long to discover who _does_ have access, and in what manner their paths might intersect. How their keycard might end up in his possession long enough to clone it and slip it back to them without being noticed.

There’s a bit more work involved in getting himself down to the archives without being seen on the cameras or caught by anyone, but he’s only gotten better working for the FIB. It’s tense, nerve-wracking, Gavin all too aware of the risk he’s taking with this. 

Realizes he’s never really learned his lesson when it comes to satisfying his curiosity, but for the moment things are going well.

The cloned keycard works beautifully when he swipes it, and he breathes a sigh of relief when the door shuts behind him before he gets to work.

Sets down the folders he’s carrying. Perfect props for playing the role of a lowly peon handling shuffling along, and digs into the files he’s after.

He gets bits and pieces, long sections redacted and no closer to finding answers he doesn’t have the questions for. (Knows the shape of them well enough to have a starting point but not much else.)

His phone buzzes in his pocket after half an hour has gone by. Convenient little warning to get out before he’s notices. Agents and staff returning from meetings, lunch, other business and the odds of him being discovered rising the longer he dallies.

Someone bound to see him, wonder what he’s doing down here and so on and so on and so on.

He almost forgets his folders on his way out. Just as he gets to the door he hears the lock disengage and looks up to see it swing open. He has a split-second to register the look of surprise on the face of the agent in the open doorway before they run into each other, stumbling back into the archives room.

“Oh, God,” Gavin hears, hand on his arm to help steady him, actual concern in the agent's voice. “I’m so sorry, are you okay?”

Gavin blinks, arms tightening around the folders as he bumps up against a filing cabinet, and realizes the agent’s looking at him closely.

He’s trapped, the heavy door having shut behind the agent when he stepped inside to check on Gavin, and -

“Uh,” the agent says, and there’s no snap of anger in his voice when Gavin fails to answer right away, no suspicion darkening his eyes as he cocks his head. “Really, are you alright?”

Gavin opens his mouth to speak and flushes as he _squeaks_ , voice betraying him.

The agent’s eyebrows go up, corner of his mouth quirking slightly.

“Sorry,” he says, and he sounds amused of all things, but not in the malicious manner Gavin’s come to expect. “I didn’t get that?”

Gavin clears his throat, runs a nervous hand through his hair and startles when his hand brushes the glasses he’s forgotten he decided to wear for this little mission of his. 

Poor attempt at a disguise, but people tend to look for signifiers and the like, gaze drawn to the things the expect to see first and all that.

“I’m fine,” Gavin says, tries for a smile. “Just didn’t expect to bump into anyone down here. Are _you_ alright? I’ve been told I have a hard head.”

The agent laughs, and laughs again as he realizes he’s still touching Gavin, as he pulls his hand back. 

“Nah, I’m good,” he answers, and then, “You’re sure you’re okay, though?”

Gavin nods, anxiety easing a bit as the agent shows no signs of hostility towards him, the resentment at his mere existence in such hallowed halls.

“Okay,” the agent says, “Good, good.”

Unexpectedly awkward, and shy?

No. 

Something like it, though, and Gavin finds his smile turning a little more genuine in the face of it.

“Well, this has been lovely,” he says, and strangely it has, if only because this particular agent has so far shown he’s not the typical sort Gavin’s dealt with in his time here. “But I need to get back to work.”

The agent finally seems to notice the files he’s holding, and steps aside with an apologetic laugh.

“Oh, yeah, Sorry again!” he says, as Gavin sidles past. “And, uh. Have a nice day?”

Gavin laughs in spite of himself. 

“You too,” he calls back, and hurries the hell away before something else unexpected happens.

========

It’s sad, really, that the small bit of kindness the agent extended towards him should have such a strong effect on Gavin. Have him oddly restless, this little itch in his bones to _do something_ , but he’s been working for the FIB for a while now. Forgets what something like that looks – feels – like.

Not to say all the FIB agents are complete bastards, but the ones who are seem to be the ones in positions of power. Arrogant with it, having had it all this time, and it makes them stupid.

Gavin cracks his knuckles – literally and metaphorically – and does his research.

Learns that the agent is one Alfredo Diaz out of San Andreas. Enlisted in the Army out of high school and portions of his records are highly classified. Require clearances higher than anyone in the building can access and that is definitely interesting, isn’t it.

The sections that aren’t paint him in a good light. High marksmanship scores and commendations from his superior officers and so on.

Decided on the FIB after his enlistment was over and did well at the start. Seemed to be on his way to building a successful career, until an incident around a year ago involving some kind of altercation with fellow agents. 

Conflicting reports and redacted information, and it’s one of the most suspicious things Gavin’s happened upon in his time with the FIB. Endless hours scraping together suspicious files, reports. Any evidence he can get his hands on of the corruption that’s taken root in the agency sure as any police department in Los Santos and this void surrounding this incident is the most suspicious thing he’s seen yet.

And it doesn’t stop there, incidents on cases Alfredo was assigned to. Reports of tension among the agents. Injuries and close calls in the field that shouldn’t have happened. Suggestions in between the line that Alfredo be reassigned due to his incompatibility with other agents that resulted in him being bounced around until he ended up in Los Santos.

It’s - 

Something is very clearly going on with Agent Diaz, and Gavin can’t let well enough alone, can he. Five minutes of kindness from someone who wasn’t a complete bastard to him and Gavin’s setting aside his own priorities to look into things on his behalf.

Finagles things so that he’s the one handling the comms when Alfredo’s in the field. The one sifting through data to bring him vital intel that could mean the difference between life and death. 

He doesn’t think Alfredo remembers him until Gavin’s sitting in a surveillance van with a pair of bored agents. One sitting behind the wheel humming tunelessly to himself and the other listening in on their target’s phone lines while Alfredo sits in an unmarked car a few blocks over.

“You sound familiar,” he says, like it’s something that’s been bothering him for a long time. “Have we met?”

Gavin blinks, eyes darting to the agent next to him, engrossed in what she’s doing so she doesn’t notice the incredulous look on Gavin’s face at could have been a pickup line any other time. (Surely he hadn’t meant it that way, surely.)

“Don’t think so,” Gavin murmurs, better not have him put two and two together, realize Gavin had no reason to be down in the archives that day. “Think I would have remembered meeting you.”

There’s a long pause, Gavin dragging his focus back in time to realize what he just said, and presses his hand over his eyes in mortification. Waits for the disgust, derision, but instead - 

“Oh, nice,” Alfredo says, laughing in delight. “You got any others like that one? It’s boring as shit over here.”

Gavin snorts, sneaking a glance at the other agent who gives him a dirty look before focusing on her job.

“Did it hurt,” Gavin says, makes sure to keep his voice as carefully neutral as he can to see how long it takes for the agent to notice what he’s doing. “When you fell from Heaven, Alfredo?”

Alfredo is _cackling_ , this bright, breathless laughter that has Gavin smiling like an idiot at the sound.

“Okay, okay, okay,” he says when he has his laughter under control, “Let me think of one.”

Gavin adjusts his headset, turning away from the agent as he waits for Alfredo’s next terrible pickup line. He’s a bit of an idiot, but it’s not like any of this means anything. Like Alfredo knows who he is, so this.

It’s safe enough, isn’t it?

========

Only, it _isn’t_. Because they manage to break that case wide open, Alfredo and Gavin and the other agents assigned to it. That brings expectations of further ones from that team, Gavin included.

His handlers are loathe to let him roam too far, but someone further up the chain of command is impressed with what he was able to do. Overrules their objections, list of reasons as why it’s a bad idea.

“Hey, we have met!” 

It’s the first thing Alfredo says to him when Gavin is moving his equipment into the so-called office Gavin’s been given.

It’s more of a storage closet that’s been repurposed into a workspace for Gavin. Room for his computers and other equipment and tiny and cramped and just down the hall from the where Alfredo and his team work.

Gavin looks up, overflowing cardboard box of his things in his arms.

“Er, beg your pardon?”

He’s glad for the mess of boxes and equipment between them, because he feels trapped like this. Too many lies – deliberate and by omission and everything in between and this horrible knowledge he’s made a mistake getting this close to Alfredo. (Even now he’s not afraid of him even though he has every reason to be when they’re, technically speaking, not on the same side.)

“Before, down in the archives?” Alfredo prompts, and it doesn’t seem to have occurred to him that Gavin never should have been down there. “We literally ran into each other.”

He’s grinning, like it’s a good memory. Something to look back on with fondness.

“Oh.” Gavin says, as though he’d honestly forgotten. “That. Yes.”

Alfredo's smile softens as he steps around the mound of crap and helps Gavin with the box.

“Finally nice to put a face to the voice whispering sweet nothings in my ear all the time,” Alfredo says, sly twist to his moth as Gavin sputters.

“I have not!” he manages, grateful for the dim lighting as he feels his cheeks heat, because he hasn’t.

Not...okay, not all the time, anyway. And anyways, Alfredo’s always one to return the favor, laughter in his voice and Gavin smiling helplessly.

There’s been some professionalism between them as well. Gavin feeding Alfredo and his team information through his earpiece as he goes undercover. Searching premises after following up on leads and the like. 

Alfredo laughs, and Gavin realizes he’s made another mistake because he can’t look away from him.

========

It doesn’t last, because Gavin hasn’t forgotten his own mission. The reason he’s played nice all these years – a chance to repay the FIB for that they’ve done to him. What they made him into.

He keeps funneling information to the Fakes through Axial and whoever pretends to be him from time to time, thinking Gavin wouldn’t notice. 

Definite shift in their interactions that makes it perfectly clear it’s someone else. This odd sense of approval from them when Gavin let them know he was on to them. Suspicious and paranoid and only the use of specific code phrases Axial had insisted Gavin learn reassured him he was dealing with one of the Fakes.

He’s careful, though, when it comes to information regarding Alfredo because Gavin’s grown regrettably fond of the man. (Regrettable only because they’re very much on opposite sides in this, and when Alfredo finds out, he imagines it won’t be pretty.)

Funny, then, that he always seems to come back to the tangled mess surrounding Alfredo. This ongoing belittling of his accomplishments and contributions, undercutting him and slow attempt to break him down.

Butting heads with his teammates and other agents on a constant basis, lack of trust that’s chilling to witness when all too often their lives rely on such a thing.

Alfredo smiles through it all and pushes on, but he fades as time passes and it all begins to weigh on him while Gavin watches on helplessly. 

Offers support where he can, does his best to keep Alfredo as safe as possible in the field, but Gavin’s limited in what he can do. Hobbled by his own situation and it’s maddening watching it all play out.

“Oh, well hello then,” Gavin says, when his computer chirps at him, an alert he’s set up when his backdoors into the FIB's systems are tripped. “What’s this?”

Someone’s tampered with the security cameras placed throughout the building. Think they’ve manage to loop the footage for a bit, but Gavin’s got his little tricks and this is interesting indeed, because it’s _Alfredo_.

Furtive, looking over his shoulder as he picks the lock to a senior agent’s office and accesses his computer terminal. (This tension to him Gavin’s all too familiar with.)

Not so squeaky clean, it seems, and Gavin squashes the disappointment he feels watching Alfredo. There's no reason he should have expected more from Alfredo just because he was _kind_

Still.

Gavin covers Alfredo’s tracks when he’s done. Erases what little evidence he left behind because he’s a sad bastard and Alfredo’s the closest thing to a friend he has within the FIB.

The incidents and accidents that predated Alfredo’s transfer to Los Santos start to happen here too, and Gavin can only do so much to help him without tipping his hand. He spends endless nights trying to find out what the root of it all is, and every trail leads back to that incident in his records that remains a blank mystery.

Around that time the FIB considers another attempt to infiltrate the Fake AH Crew, send one of theirs into the lion’s den and hope it pans out better than previous ones. 

The way things are going now, it won’t be long before there’s an unfortunate accident involving Alfredo. A case of friendly fire, or backup that never comes. Pinned down elsewhere or some other flimsy excuse and goodness, what a tragedy, but he was a damn fine agent, wasn’t he. 

It’s a dangerous prospect for anyone, and somehow still a better option for Alfredo than remaining where he is. Better odds for his survival, which is the worst kind of irony.

It’s undercover work that Alfredo excels in. That easy charm of his and sharp, clever mind. Backwards sort of logic that has Gavin realizing Alfredo stands a better chance of survival with the infamous criminals than with the law enforcement agents meant to watch his back. 

Gavin mentions it to Alfredo one morning when they're the only two in the office. Too early for the others to venture in, and should be safe enough.

“What?” Alfredo says, not quite processing what he’s just said.

Gavin shrugs, tells him that he overheard other agents talking about it. Couldn’t be that big of a secret if they were going to gossip about it at the water cooler.

“Huh,” Alfredo says.

Gavin raise an eyebrow.

“That’s,” Alfredo snorts. “That’s something, isn’t it.”

“I’m sorry?”

Alfredo scrubs a hand over his face, and looks at Gavin.

“I was going to tell you,” he says, myriad of expression flitting across his face before he seems to settle on bemused. “I took the assignment, Gav. I was going to tell you. Let you know before the others.”

Oh.

Gavin blinks at Alfredo stupidly.

This is an unexpected development.

“The way I figure it,” Alfredo says, and Gavin winces at the bitterness in his voice. “It’ll be a hell of a lot more straightforward than what’s been happening.”

“Well,” Gavin says, awkward little laugh in there. “Criminal types, I suppose. Pretty clear what they’re all about, innit?”

Alfredo cocks his head as he looks at Gavin.

“Yeah,” he says, odd note to his voice. “It is.”

=========

When Alfredo goes undercover Gavin’s handlers seize the opportunity to drag him back to that little cage of his. Shove him back down in that office with the wonky light and broken air conditioning. Put him to work sniffing out cyber threats and keep him so busy he doesn’t have time for much else.

And yet, he still manages to slip information to Axial when he can. Does his best to glean any bit of information from Axial about Alfredo.

Figures he’s doing well enough for himself. Clearly still alive since the FIB haven’t pulled the plug on their little operation, declared it a failure and how sad it is to lose such a bright young man to the criminal scum of this city.

Axial goes quiet a few months later, and before Gavin can wonder what that’s all about everything goes to hell.

From what he can tell, the Fakes manage to stumble over another FIB operation and an agent who knows Alfredo, and it turns into a downright mess.

Building up in flames and several dead in the initial shootout. A few assumed dead in the fire, and the rest either missing. Gavin’s world grinds to a halt because Alfredo’s listed among the casualties. (No body, but it’ll be some time before they clear the rubble away to search for them.)

Gavin goes through the motions with the FIB until he overhears something he surely wasn’t meant to. Alfredo’s former superiors laughing, mean and ugly and glad about the fact he’s gone because it because it saves them the work of doing it themselves.

Five minutes of kindness and this odd sort of friendship and Gavin’s so easy, isn’t he.

No problem at all for him to burn everything he's been working toward for years down for Alfredo.

Gathers everything he’s fond on the FIB over the years and packs it all up nice and neat and gifts it to one of the reputable reporters in Los Santos. Sends copies to another in Liberty City just in case, and sends Axial one last message, a request not to look for him and disappears.

Or, rather, he plans to, really. No reason to stay in Los Santos any longer and he misses England. Misses Dan and the terrible weather and _good_ tea and talks it up in his head because he feels hollow, aching. Directionless for the first time in a long time, and that much is something, isn’t it? 

Goes to a rundown apartment he managed to hide from the FIB. Lease under a fake name and so very careful not to tie it back to himself. 

Gavin dithers like an idiot, and wakes up one morning in his terrible little apartment not to his door being kicked open, but a knock. 

Far less dramatic than that day years and year ago now.

“Hey, Gav.”

Gavin’s hand tightens on the doorknob, voice caught in his throat because that’s a face he never thought he’d see again. 

Familiar smile, hair styled to within an inch of its life. (Alive, he’s _alive_.)

The knock on his door may be less dramatic, maybe, but it still manages to change Gavin’s world all over again.


End file.
